The Words that Stick

A few months ago, my mom said something that has stuck with me. We were watching the news together. There was a story about the ship that went missing during that tropical storm Joaquin, (or did it become a hurricane?) They were showing the crew that disappeared and of course made a point to mention a lot of Americans. (Why would Americans care if it was mostly foreigners?) But then my mom said “oh wow, a bunch of good-looking people too.)

My response: “because if they were ugly, it wouldn’t matter if they went missing?”

She got flustered and said of course not, it was just a shame. Then we changed the subject. I felt bad. She didn’t really mean anything by her comment. But it reminded me of the house I grew up in and the attitudes.

Looks mattered and I felt I never had them. Or at least not ones the media or society prefered. I had two sisters who I always felt were prettier. My older sister teased me that she had “boyfriends” when she was 8 but at 12, I still had no one interested in me. All my friends had their first kiss by then. I turned my jealousy into judgement and I called them sluts. At 13, I asked my mom for a nose job. She said that was something I could worry about when I had my own money. (And I finally did get one when I was 32, but still wasn’t happy with it.) My mom gave me a book when I was 14 on how to make Frenchbraids and once I learned to start doing so to my hair, I finally heard her compliment my looks.

This was a blog I started last fall. I never finished it but as I went to write something tonight, I saw it. I thought it was appropriate for how I am feeling lately and my latest problems with my mother.

I felt better today, but I think that is because I got sleep. I’ve said it before: sleep is the best drug! I still called out sick from work tonight. I had to so I could get that sleep. Plus I was sick in the way of my mental health. Depression.

I found myself crying at work the previous night and thinking of suicide again. I even googled “does slicing your wrists hurt.” There was a website that gave details of better ways to slash your wrists! It suggested a warm bath to dilate your blood. I started to wonder if I should put a shower curtain in the tub first to make clean up easier. Then I felt guilty of leaving all that mess for my landlady. Would my blood seep down through the floor and drip into her room? Would she have problems renting the place after word got out a suicide happened? Would I stain the vintage, yellow bathroom tiles? By the end of my shift, I was beginning to erase cutting myself as a way to end it all. I still stole a scalpel blade that I saw laying on a desk on my way out. Just in case. I think it was used to open envelopes or boxes.

I cried myself to sleep but set my alarm to call out for my next shift. When I woke up, I went to the movies. I saw “Hello My Name is Doris” with Sally Field. It was a good and funny movie. Something in it made me think I need to change my thinking. I need to be nicer. Lately, I have been such a bitch. I have developed a very bad attitude at work. I think the stress of school is partially to blame. I snap at people and try to keep to myself. I have been feeling that I hate people. I would rather spend my shift alone. But my drive to alienate myself if actually causing me to be hated. I think. I definitely do not feel liked by many people. So something in this movie made me think maybe I should try. At least smile more. It might actually be harder than it sounds.

 

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